Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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I am a visitor here. When will the walls start to talk? Lines must be down; a widespread outage. No wonder the stars are burning at 30%. With so little light to go by, the question remains: Will I grow feet or wings, and where would those things take me? I see the pit, the…
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A slash of weak sunlight fell across the trivet with the blue rooster. It served as a weight so the construction paper wouldn't fly off the kitchen counter. In black ink Maia printed for the kids' sake, and used the words reminiscent, introspection, distaste, and exemplifies in her note. She wrote the date and time…
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She doesn't think I see her, but I do. Oh, I do. The ramshackle lady in flimsy pink flip-flops is a ghost. Is a ghost. We all haunt the places we miss the most. Even when the body is bound up by the present day, the spirit struggles to have its way. It asks: "Is…
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just stop and think for a moment about that moment when all the forces of the universe converged inside one bleary eyed thought while watching some old b&w costume drama after a week of very very little sleep and the kids stopped with the crying but the milk went bad and there was not a…
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It's hot today, but you always did like a good soak in the sun. It's been a year since I was able to scratch your chin and tell you it was too early for supper. We can feel you roam about the house, taking head count as you move from room to room so no…
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Mae's walls closed in on her, Fred, the shelves filled with dusty tchotchke. Golden age turned lovers and objects into death traps. She needed to speak. It'd been years since Mae had anything to say. She'd long ago hung her heart on the wall in a nice Certificate of Achievement-sized frame. It had the most…
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Mama had the megrims and Lettie was left to herself again. She sat on her bed, tracing the outlines of the bright yellow smiley face flowers stamped on her bedspread before turning her attention to the fresh outbreak of poison oak on the backs of her knees. Hot, itchy-scratchy pain and with no more ointment…
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Sure Corrie felt shitty reading her big sister's diary. Did feeling like a degenerate make Corrie put away what wasn't hers and go do something productive like laundry? Hell no. All of the people Shelley wrote about in her big red book were thinly disguised real folk, like too-close-to-home-folk. Like who could this bitchy character…
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My side of the tale?I am skinny and quick, bitch.Stew in your own juice.
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A cool down is now required. This has been one hot afternoon of dog-on-rabbit torment as the squeeze-through portions of the backyard fence have been patrolled most fervently. No animals have been harmed in today's chase, but I can't put a leash on instinct. Nature looks on while I play it safe and mend my…
Semi-Daily Scribbles 